THE 


wjmnfc  of       cstcrn 


JJCSB  LIBRARY 


GRACE  VERNON  BUSSELL, 


THE 


HEROINE  OF  WESTERN  AUSTRALIA: 


AND   'OTHER   POEMS. 


BY 


REV.    C.    W.    RAY. 


HARTFORD,    CONN.: 

PRESS  OF  THE  CASE,  LOCKWOOD  &  BRAINARD  COMPANY. 
1878. 


COPYRIGHTED, 
1878. 


GRACE  VERNON  BUSSELL, 

THE  HEROINE  OP  WESTERN  AUSTRALIA. 


The  night  closed  in,  and  darkness  like  a  pall, 
The  gaunt  and  creeping  shadows  overspread  ; 
While  clouds  of  blackness  hoarsely  growled  their  rage, 
Illumined  by  the  lightning's  fitful  glare, 
Which,  far  away  behind  the  mountain  peaks, 
Seemed  dancing,  as  tho'  beckoning  on  the  storm, 
And  panting  for  the  sight  of  coming  woe ! 
The  hills  kept  silence,  as  in  breathless  awe  ; 
And  trembled  at  the  muttered  threat  of  doom ; 
While  Grace,  from  out  the  window,  gazed  entranced ; 
Till,  startled  by  the  cricket's  sharp  shrill  cry 
Which  by  the  sultry  air,  and  deepening  gloom 
Was  coaxed  in  noisy  march  from  out  the  wall : 


Then,  she  arose ;  drew  in  and  closed  the  blinds ; 
And  wishing  each  "  Good  night,  and  pleasant  dreams,'' 
She  soon  was  kneeling  by  her  own  soft  couch, 
And  breathing  out  her  solemn  evening  prayer. 

Ere  she  arose,  the  rising  wind,  in  grief 
Was  sighing,  moaning,  through  the  forest  trees ; 
And  in  a  moment  more,  the  howling  blast 
Burst  overhead ;  and  made  her  heart  stand  still. 
But,  when  at  last  the  frightful  din  had  ceased, 
And  rush  and  roar  were  followed  by  the  rain. 
Secure  beneath  the  well-thatched  roof,  she  slept ! 
How  long,  none  knew.      She  slept,  and  dreamed  and 

waked ; 

Waked  with  a  cry  of  horror,  loud  and  long, 
That  roused  each  slumbering  inmate  of  the  house. 
The  storm  had  passed,  and  through  the  rattling  blinds 
The  moon  sent  kindly  beams;  yet,  lingering  winds 
Seemed  like  the  distant  wail  of  breaking  hearts. 

At  length,  offended  and  reluctant  sleep 

Came  slowly  back,  and  softly  kissed  away 

The  whispered  prayer  upon  her  parted  lips. 

But,  when  the  clock  struck  three,  with  sudden  start, 


With  trembling,  and  with  wildly  throbbing  heart 

She  woke  again  ;  and,  to  her  fancy  wild, 

Excited  by  the  thrice-repeated  dream, 

Each  hammer-stroke  seemed  like  a  signal-gun 

Of  vessel  in  distress,  far  out  to  sea. 

She  dreamed  that,  in  the  darkness  and  the  storm, 

She  saw  a  steam-ship  thrown  upon  the  rocks, 

And  terror-stricken  sailors  crowd  the  boats; 

And  heard  a  mother's  frantic  cry  for  aid ; 

Who,  with  a  lovely  infant  in  her  arms, 

With  streaming  eyes  and  wild  imploring  look, 

Was  clinging  to  the  parting  wreck  for  life  ; 

While  each  mad  wave  struck  at  her  frail  support, 

And  coldly  mocked  her  prayer  and  cherished  hope. 

So  vivid  and  so  real  was  the  dream 
That  Grace  arose,  impatient  for  the  light, 
Resolved  upon  a  visit  to  the  shore 
At  break  of  day,  although  ten  miles  away. 
No  sooner  did  the  twilight  gild  the  East, 
Than  Ned,  the  drowsy  stable-boy,  was  called 
To  feed  the  young  and  handsome  dapple-gray ; 
A  horse  as  fleet  and  tireless  as  the  wind, 
The  pride  of  all  the  town  and  country  round. 


All  things  made  ready  for  the  rapid  ride, 
Grace  paced  the  hall,  with  restless,  anxious  step ; 
With  frequent  sigh,  that  time  dragged  on  so  slow, 
And  with  her  hand  upon  her  aching  heart; 
For  still  she  seemed  to  see  upon  the  wreck 
The  bloodless  faces  of  that  vessel's  crew ; 
Still  seemed  to  hear  that  mother's  piteous  wail, 
And  the  low  smothered  sob  of  her  sweet  babe ! 

Just  as  the  sun  had  crowned  the  highest  hills, 

The  dapple-gray  was  neighing  at  the  door, 

As  in  impatient  haste  to  be  away. 

With  gentle  words,  Grace  stroked  his  arching  neck ; 

While  Ned  put  on  an  extra  linen  girth : 

Then,  bounding  to  the  saddle  in  a  trice, 

She  bravely  galloped  down  the  forest  path  ; 

Nor  slackened  speed,  till  she  had  reached  the  cliff, 

Which,  high  above  the  beach,  o'erlooked  the  sea. 

Then  she  beheld  a  scene  that  thrilled  her  through, 

And  dimmed  her  eyes  with  sympathetic  woe ! 

Far  out  from  shore,  a  ship  was  on  the  rocks ; 
And  passengers  and  crew,  upon  the  wreck. 
With  angry  waves  were  battling  hard  for  life. 


Midway  between  the  stranded  ship  and  shore, 

A  capsized  boat  was  drifting  to  and  fro ; 

And  to  it  mothers  with  their  children  clung ; 

While  clear,  above  the  breakers'  deafening  roar, 

Grace   heard  a  woman's  cry,  which  chilled  her  blood : 

And  waiting  not,  she  sought  a  rugged  path 

Down  which  the  hardy   wreckers  sometimes  climbed, 

And  down  the  fearful  steep,  with  frightful  leaps, 

O'er  trunks  of  fallen  trees  and  ragged  rocks, 

As  tho'  upheld  by  angel  hands,  she  rode ! 

Nor  did  she  pause  till  her  strong  dapple-gray 

Stood  panting,  on  the  rough  and  wreck-strewn  shore. 

Then,  while  the  noisy  waves  broke  round  his  feet, 

She  leaned  upon  his  neck  in  fond  caress, 

And  sobbed,  u  Now,  Hero,  comes  the  tug  of  war  ! 

Those  mothers  and  their  children  must  be  saved, 

Or  friends  will  never  welcome  our  return  !  " 

Then,  raising  her  dark,  glistening  eyes  to  heaven, 

Her  hat  was  lifted  from  her  classic  brow  ; 

Her  cheeks  were  wet  with  mingled  spray  and  tears  ; 

Her  golden  ringlets  streaming  in  the  wind ; 

While  from  her  livid  lips  burst  forth  the  prayer  : 

"  0  thou  who  once  didst  walk  upon  the  waves, 


And  to  thy  tempest-tossed  disciples  come 
With  words  of  cheer,  and  calm  the  troubled  deep ; 
Hear  me,  and  calm  my  wildly  beating  heart ! 
Give  Hero  strength ;  and  give  me  nerve  to  guide ; 
That  we  may  safely  bring  from  threatened  death 
The  helpless  ones  now  struggling  in  the  surf!  " 
A  moment  more,  and  drawing  close  the  rein, 
Grace  and  her  fearless  steed  were  in  the  sea, 
And  wrestling  hard  with  the  tumultuous  floods ! 

With  tearful  eyes,  and  anxious,  aching  hearts, 

They  watched  her  from  the  distant  trembling  wreck ; 

And  saw  her  rise  from  overwhelming  waves,  » 

When  horse  and  rider  both,  at  times,  seemed  lost. 

And  once,  entangled  in  a  broken  raft, 

Her  princely  steed  seemed  ready  to  despair. 

And  dropped  his  neck  upon  a  broken  spar  ! 

But  Grace's  quick  cry  gave  him  new  strength  and  life, 

And  bravely,  with  caress,  she  urged  him  on. 

The  .second  line  of  roaring  breakers  passed, 
They  reached  the  boat,  and  safely  brought  ashore 
Each  half-drowned  woman,  and  with  each  her  child ; 
And  last  of  all,  a  half-dead  sailor  boy ! 


Then,  while  with  hawser  stretched  from  ship  to  shore 

The  stronger  helped  the  weaker  ones  to  land, 

To  tell  the  news,  and  bring  the  rescued  aid, 

Grace  whirled  away,  all  dripping  from  the  waves, 

The  sea-foam  dropping  from  the  flowing  mane 

And  quivering  flanks  of  her  proud  dapple-gray  ; 

Nor  did  the  noble  fellow's  courage  fail, 

Till  he  was  standing  by  her  father's  door  ; 

From  whence,  with  needful  stores,  her  startled  friends 

Were  hastening  soon,  to  wrecked  ones  on  the  shore. 


THE  OLD  MAN'S  ARREST. 


Stay  !  watchman,  stay  !   why  roughly  sieze 

A  wreck  like  me  ?     My  trembling  knees 

Refuse  to  bear  along  the  street 

My  aching  heart !     My  weary  feet,— 

Now  blistered  with  the  long  day's  tramp, 

Although  the  night  is  chill  and  damp,— 

Protest  against  attempt  to  find 

A  place  of  rest,  with  human  kind  : 

Let  me  lie  here  ;   I'll  do  no  harm  ; 

The  box  and  straw  will  keep  me  warm : 

Just  wrap  me  in  this  ragged  plaid, 

And  let  me  rest : — I  am  not  mad  ! 


Because  I  prayed  so  hard  to  die, 
And  talked  of  Nell,  you  thought  that  I 


11 

Must  be  a  madman,  raving  wild ! 

And  who  is  Nell  ?     She  is  my  child. 

I  daily  pray  with  every  breath 

To  be  with  her  ;  and  hence,  for  death. 

She  had  her  mother's  face,  so  fair  ; 

The  same  dark  eyes,  and  auburn  hair  ; — 

"  Why  talk  of  her  so  much  ?  "     Why,  she, 

Of  all  the  world,  cared  most  for  me  ! 

Of  kindred,  she  was  all  I  had  ; 

'Twould  not  be  strange  if  I  were  mad. 

How  oft  she  sought,  with  radiant  face, 
With  laugh  and  shout,  my  warm  embrace. 
No  fairer  child  was  ever  pressed 
To  father's  palpitating  breast, 
Than  little  Nell ; — so  dear  to  me  ; 
So  often  dandled  on  my  knee. 
At  nightfall,  when  I  reached  my  home, 
Her  loving  lips  would  seek  my  own, 
And  then,  her  soft  arms  she  would  press 
About  my  neck,  in  fond  caress, 
And  softly  lisp  :   "  Nell  feel  so  bad 
When  papa's  gone !  "     Call  me  not  mad. 


12 

When  from  the  door  I  turned  away, 

She  dropped  all  toys,  and  ceased  to  play ; 

And  running  to  her  little  chair, 

In  eager  haste,  and  watching  there, 

With  chin  upon  the  window  sill ; 

Her  sweet  "  Good  by,"  my  heart  would  thrill ; 

And  as  the  gate  would  backward  swing, 

Her  dimpled  hand  a  kiss  would  fling ! 

Then  she  would  say,  with  gentle  sigh, 

With  trembling  lip,  and  tearful  eye, 

And  drooping  head,  and  look  so  sad, 

"  My  Papa  's  gone !  "     Call  me  not  mad. 

No  dark  brown  eyes  now  watch  for  me ; 
No  loved  one  climbs  upon  my  knee ; 
No  arms  upon  my  shoulders  rest; 
No  cheek  against  my  own  is  pressed ; 
No  rosy  lips  now  touch  my  own, 
No  voice  of  love  now  welcomes  home  ! 
My  ears  shall  never,  never  more, 
Hear  her  light  footsteps  on  the  floor, 
As  when,  in  coming  from  the  store, 
She  ran  to  meet  me  by  the  door, 


13 

And  sweetly  said :    "  Nell  is  so  glad 
Her  papa's  come !  "     Call  me  not  mad. 

Ah  !   how  these  temples  throb  with  pain ; 

And  yet  you  say,  u[Go  on  again !  " 

You  fain  would  have  me  tell  how  all 

My  joy  of  life  was  turned  to  gall  :  — 

"  How  long  since  then  ?  "     The  days  and  years 

Have  all  been  marked  by  sighs  and  tears. 

But, — well,  I  cannot  talk  of  death, 

My  words  grow  thick  and  stop  my  breath : 

They  tore  her  from  my  arms,  and  said, 

I  must  be  still, — that  she  was  dead! 

No  heavier  woe  man  ever  had ; 

You  hurt  me  when  you  call  me  mad. 

Low  in  the  dust  she  now  is  laid, 

Beneath  the  stately  elm's  deep  shade ! 

To  me  its  branches  seem  to  sing 

A  sad  and  tender  requiem. 

For  her  who  was  my  happy  bride, 

For  her  who  was.  my  joy  and  pride, 

They  dug  the  grave  both  deep  and  wide, 


14 

And  Nell  is  sleeping  by  her  side ! 
Now  I  am  wandering  all  alone  ; 
Friends  I  have  none,  nor  earthly  home  : 
Yet  to  my  breaking  heart  you  add 
Reproach  and  pain  ;  you  'call  me  mad  ! 

I  did  not  wish  my  grief  to  tell, 
I  thought  it  known  by  all  too  well ; 
And  could  I  all  the  tale  unfold, 
And  paint  the  pangs  I  leave  untold,— 
Should  you  in  sympathy  for  me 
Shed  tears  enough  to  fill  the  sea, 
'Twould  lift  no  burden  from  my  heart, 
Relieve  no  pain,  and  ease  no  smart! 
Till  death,  my  griefs  alone  I'll  bear, 
Though  I  no  mourning  robes  may  wear ; 
Frown  not  that  I  am  meanly  clad, 
But  pity  me ;  I  am  not  mad. 

Could  you  have  known  what  burning  tears 
These  eyes  have  rained  through  all  these  years, 
The  friends  from  whom.  I  had  to  part, 

The  burdens  of  my  broken  heart, 

j 


15 

You  would  not  with  gruff  voice  and  blow 
Have  bade  me  to  the  mad-house  go ! 
And  could  you  know  how  this  poor  frame 
Is  hourly  racked  and  cramped  with  pain, 
You  could  not  ask  the  reason  why 
I  moan,  and  pray,  and  long  to  die  ; 
For  my  release  you  would  be  glad  ; 
You  would  not  frown,  nor  think  me  mad. 

"  Why  am  I  poor  ?  "     The  very  day 
That  Nellie  died,  my  health  gave  way; 
Then  came  the  fire !   the  store  was  burned,  - 
To  pay  for  goods  the  house  was  turned ; 
And  I  was  left  alone, — to  roam 
A  beggar,  without  friend  or  home. 
No,  thank  you,  watchman !    I've  no  fear 
That  anything  will  hurt  me  here : 
This  box  and  straw  and  open  shed 
Will  do  as  well  as  softest  bed. 
They'll  think  me  but  some  homeless  lad ; 
Let  me  lie  here ; — I  am  not  mad. 


THE   FUNERAL. 


It  was  up  among  the  mountains, 

'Midst  the  wilds  of  North  New  Hampshire, 

In  a  glen  of  wondrous  beauty, 

Known  by  many  as  "  The  Dove's  Nest." 

Here  we  found  the  little  cottage, 

Half  concealed  by  climbing  woodbine, 

In  the  loveliest  seclusion, 

Lovelier  than  poet's  fancy, 

Fit  abode  for  fabled  fairies. 

Roses  clambered  o'er  the  windows, 
And  above  the  rustic  porches, 
Filling  all  the  air  with  fragrance  ; 
While  from  terrace  walls  were  drooping 
Honeysuckle  and  nasturtium, 
Which,  with  beds  of  rare  verbenas, 
And  the  smiling  garden  border, 


17 

All  seemed  looking  up  and  telling 
How  the  nest  was  loved  and  tended. 
High,  and  facing  to  the  southward, 
Half  the  cottage  roof  o'er-hanging, 
Crowned  with  poplars  and  white  birches, 
Rose  a  moss-grown  ledge  of  granite, 
Whose  pale  cheeks  the  early  sunbeams 
Kissed  and  flushed  with  radiant  gladness. 
To  our  left,  but  in  the  distance, 
Spread  a  dark  and  pathless  forest, 
With  its  tower-like  spurs  of  hemlock; 
To  our  right,  a  crystal  streamlet 
Long  by  beetling  crags  overshadowed  ; 
While  above  them,  in  the  background, 
Lofty  pines,  a  fearless  sentry, 
Long  had  braved  the  storms  of  winter, 
Long  from  piercing  blasts  had  sheltered. 

Standing  in  the  open  door- way, 
Scenes  of  rarest  charm  enthralled  us ; 
Scenes  like  brightest  fields  elysian 
In  the  Oriental  vision ! 
In  the  clear  transparent  waters 
3 


18 

Of  a  matchless.gem-like  lakelet, 
All  were  mirrored  in  perfection, 
As  in  burnished  shield  of  silver  ; 
Cottage,  rocks,  and  drooping  birches, 
Pines,  and  roses,  and  gray  mosses ! 
Every  blossom  on  the  hillside 
Was  in  form  and  hue  reflected  ! 

Far  away,  the  sun  was  sinking, 
Slowly,  to  the  dim  horizon  ; 
Veiled  by  golden-tinted  curtains, 
Fringed  with  purple  and  vermilion, 
Looped  'neath  banks  of  silvery  vapor, 
To  the  peaks  of  snow-capped  mountains, 
Wreathed  in  ever-changing  splendors ; 
Prophecy  of  heavenly  glories  ! 

Here,  to  this  fair  type  of  Eden, 

There  had  come  a  grim  intruder ; 

And  the  gentle  mountain  birdling, 

Child  of  only  ten  short  summers, 

Chilled  and  paled  by  death's  stern  whisper, 

Wrapped  in  her  last  dreamless  slumber, 


19 

Waited  now  the  solemn  service, 
The  last  tribute  of  affection. 

In  her  hand  were  choicest  rosebuds, 
While  with  vines  and  opening  flowers 
She  was  crowned  and  robed  for  burial. 
Chosen  classmates,  in  their  sorrow, 
From  the  quiet  little  hamlet 
Far  below  us  in  the  valley, 
With  the  sweetest  floral  offerings, 
Had  come  up  the  winding  pathway ; 
And  were  seated  with  the  mourners, 
Waiting  the  appointed  signal 
Of  the  honored  "Mountain  Shepherd," 
Ere  the  favorite  hymn  they  chanted. 

Soon,  he  rose  and,  slowly,  calmly, 
Read  the  words  of  inspiration  ; 
Read  of  death,  and  its  dark  shadows ; 
Of  the  coming  resurrection ; 
Of  the  changeless  heavenly  mansions ; 
Read  of  Christ  and  bliss  eternal! 
Then,  he  bowed  in  supplication  ; 
And  his  tender  accents  mingled 


20 

With  the  sobs  and  lamentations 

Of  the  broken-hearted  weepers, 

In  their  Joneliness  and  anguish! 

Fervently  he  made  petition 

That  with  sweetest  consolation 

Christ  would  visit  the  bereaved  ones  ; 

That  the  Comforter, — the  Spirit, 

Whose  bright  wing  once  flashed  o'er  Jordan, 

As  an  emblematic  witness, 

Would  afford  to  them  some  token 

That  their  darling  was  immortal, 

And  with  angels  now  in  glory  ! 

Scarcely  had  the  words  been  uttered 
Ere  the  sound  of  rustling  pinions 
Every  eye  and  thought  arrested ! 
Through  the  vines  and  open  window 
Came  a  dove  of  snowy  whiteness, 
Thrice  the  mourning  group  encircling 
With  slow  awe-inspiring  motion  ; 
Then,  with  graceful  sweep,  alighted 
On  the  kneeling  suppliant's  shoulder, 
Strangely  motionless  remaining, 
Till  the  touching  prayer  was  ended ; 


21 

Then  amidst  the  cliffs  dark  shadows, 
Like  a  flash  of  light  it  vanished  ! 

Soon,  with  overwhelming  wonder, 

Every  face  was  white  as  marble. 

Rising  for  the  closing  hymnal, 

Hardly  one  short  line  was  chanted 

Ere  the  airy  curtains  parted, 

And  the  dove  was  circling  round  us, 

Hovering  over  the  chief  singer, 

As  though  forms  unseen  had  charmed  it. 

It  was  only  for  a  moment : 
Soon,  upon  his  head  it  rested, 
Gently,  as  the  pearly  dew-drop 
Falls  upon  the  thirsty  meadow  ; 
Rested,  till  the  song  was  finished ; 
Tranquil  as  the  babe  will  nestle 
In  the  fond  maternal  bosom ! 
Then,  it  gracefully  descended, 
Resting  on  the  open  casket ; 
And  with  smothered  note  of  mourning, 
Strangely  low,  and  soft,  and  thrilling ; 
Gazed  upon  the  silent  sleeper ! 


22 

Children  wept  with  joy  and  trembling ; 

Mourners  breathlessly  looked  round  them, 

Half  assured,  and  half  inquiring ; 

Could  it  be  the  longed-for  token  ? 

One,  with  quivering  accents,  whispered, 

It  is  some  strange  apparition, 

Or  a  messenger  from  heaven  ! 

Then,  long  pent  up  floods  of  sorrow 

Once  more,  sought  and  found  their  freedom, 

Till  each  breath  of  air  seemed  moaning, 

Arid  each  falling  tear  seemed  burdened, 

With  its  freight  of  speechless  anguish. 

Yet,  the  mourning  dove  still  lingered ; 

And  its  notes  were  softly  lengthened, 

Till  each  voice  was  awed  to  silence; 

Till  each  lip  and  tongue  seemed  palsied ; 

Till  the  preacher  calmly  answered : 

Can  the  Prince  of  Life  Eternal, 

By  a  providence  so  startling, 

Mock,  when  human  hearts  are  breaking  ? 

He  who  marks  the  falling  sparrow, 

And  each  mortal  grief  doth  measure, 

Condescends  our  prayer  to  answer. 


23 

Cherish  no  dread  superstition  ! 
Mysteries  are  all  about  us, 
Mysteries  in  light  and  darkness, 
And  in  every  form  of  beauty ; 
Mystery  in  living,  dying ; 
Mystery  in  this  dove's  presence, 
But  no  more  than  in  its  being ! 
Till  we  reach  the  very  summit 
Of  sublimest  heights  in  glory, 
Mysteries  may  e'er  surround  us 
Like  these  changing  mountain  shadows. 
Some,  now  linked  with  joy  or  sorrow, 
May  be  solved  for  us  to-morrow ! 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


TO  THE  PUBLIC. 

The  author  will  soon  publish  a  volume  of  original 
poems,  specially  designed  for  the  comfort  of  the 
bereaved,  and  embracing  the  following,  with  many 
others  on  kindred  subjects:  What  is  Death?  The 
Burial ;  The  Better  Country  ;  Watching  by  the  Gate  ; 
Recognition  in  Heaven,  etc. 


LOST     .A.T 


The  following  are  some  of  the  claims  paid  for  loss  of  life  on  lake  and  sea,  under  the 
Policies  of 

THE     TRAVELERS 

LIFE  AND  ACCIDENT  INSURANCE  CO.,  OF  HARTFORD.  CONN. 


L.  M.  JANES,  lost  cm  ster.mer  Pewabic,  - 

R.  C  JACKSON,  Chiet'  Engineer  steamer  Pewabic, 

C.  F.  ST.  JOHN,  lost  at  sea, 

I.  S.  HAYDEN,  lost  on  steamer  Constitution,     - 

THOMAS  SHAVE,  lost  on  steamer  Constitution, 

JNO.  W.  HUDSON,  lost  on  steamer  Constitution, 

G.  A.  PETERS,  explosion,  steamer  Missouri,     - 

WM.  LAING,  lost  at  sea, 

A.  R.  CALDKN,  lost  at  sea,  - 

H.  ULRICH,  lost  on  Sea-Bird, 

Capt.  ANDREW  J.  PARSONS,  lost  at  sea,  - 

Capt.  THOMAS  LORD,  lost  on  Lake  Huron, 

T.  WIRTHLIN,  steamer  explosion, 

Capt.  JOHN  MAODIAKHID,  lost  at  sea, 

G.  L.  HECMAN,  lost  on  Cambria,  - 

T.  A.  FASTER,  steamer  explosion, 

JAS.  A.  SUMNEK,  lost  overboard  from  steamer, 

C.  H.  BLISS,  lost  on  steamer  Metis, 

Capt.  C.  H.  SPRAGUE,  lost  at  sea.  schooner  T.  A.  Ward, 

P.  II.  FIELD,  lost  on  steamer  Metis. 

NORMAN  MARSH,  lost  on  steamer  Metis, 

Hon.  JAMES  RITCHIE,  lost  on  tug  boat,    - 

J.  T.  CUNNINGHAM,  explosion,  steamer  St.  John, 

JNO.  HII.ES,  lost  on  steamer  Ironsides,    - 

MOSES  STEVENS,  lost  from  steamer, 

DWIGHT  KLINK,  lost  on  Schiller,  - 

MARCUS  STEIN,  lost  on  Schiller,    - 

HERMAN  ZINKIESON,  lost  on  Schiller, 

SIMON  MANDLEBAUM,  lost  from  steamer, 

FROST  THORNE,  lost  on  yacht  Mohawk,  - 

M.  LUCKENIIACH,  lost  with  steamer  Deutschland, 

EPHRAIM  G.  THURSTON,  lost  with  ship  N.  T.  Hall, 

Accident  Maims  Paid,  ... 


$5.0(10 
2,000 
1,000 
5.000 
1,000 
1.000 
5.000 
3,000 
5.000 
1,000 
5.000 
2.000 
2.000 

10.000 
5,000 
2,500 

10.000 
5,000 
1,000 
3,000 
5,000 
5.000 
5,000 
5.000 
4,000 
5,000 
5.000 
5,000 

10.000 

5,000 

1,000 

5,000 

$2,900,000 


A   GENERAL  ACCIDENT   POLICY 

Covers  the  risks  of  Travel  and  Occupation,  at  home  or  abroad.    The  cost  is  but  a  trifling 
sum,  the  possible  benefit  very  great.    All  valid  claims  promptly  paid. 

LIFE    AND    ENDOWMENT    POLICIES 

Of  all  safe  and  desirable  forms,  on  the  low  rate,  all  cash,  stock  plan.    Claims  paid  in  Life 
Department,  $1,150,000. 

Cash  Assets,  $-1, 453,000     |     Cash  Surplus,       $1,225,000 

BOARD   OF   DIRECTORS. 
GEORGE  W.  MOORE, 
EBENEZER  ROBERTS, 
HUGH  HARBISON, 
C.  M.  HOLBROOK, 
GEORGE  M.  PULLMAN, 


JAMES  G.  RATTERSON, 
GUSTAVUS  F.  DAVIS, 
JAMES  L.  HOWARD, 
MAR-HALL  JEWELL, 
CORNELIUS  B.  IRWIN, 
EZRA  H.  BAKER, 


NATHANIEL  SUIPMAN, 
NATHANIEL  HALL, 
RODNEY  DENNIS, 
HENRY  P.  STEAHNS, 
WM.  B.  CLARK, 
AUSTIN 'C.  DUNHAM. 


JAMES  G.  BATTERSON,  President. 
RODNEY  DENNIS.  Sec'y.     JOHN  E.  MORRIS.  Asst.  Sec'y.       GEO.  ELLIS,  Actuary. 

EDWARD  V.  PRESTON,  Superintendent  of  Agencies. 
G.  P.  DAVIS,  M.D.,  Medical  Examiner.  J.  B.  LEWIS,  M.D.,  Surgeon  and  Adjuster. 


